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Claire Keegan’s ‘So Late in the Day’ Explores Characters Caught Between Need for Self-reliance and Longing for Connection 

Claire Keegan’s ‘So Late in the Day’ Explores Characters Caught Between Need for Self-reliance and Longing for Connection 

  • Long after finishing the book, I found myself haunted by these women’s struggles to connect with themselves and others, a theme that makes the short stories resonate powerfully.

Starting “So Late in the Day” (around three in the afternoon), I was immediately absorbed in Claire Keegan’s stories — the carefully crafted scenes, the tension brimming just beneath the surface, and the intricate atmospheres that make each moment come alive. Keegan’s storytelling had me gripped from the first page, and it wasn’t long before I was living alongside her female characters come alive, seeing through their eyes, and feeling the weight of their hopes, aspirations and disappointments.

In the first story, Keegan introduces us to Cathal and Sabine, a couple navigating subtle but significant fractures in their relationship. I found myself halving cherries, deftly fluting the pie crust alongside Sabine, feeling Cathal’s mounting dissatisfaction as he picked at trivial details—the way he noted her close-set eyes, the little critiques he piled up. 

I was right there in the jewelry shop, feeling the silent tension as the jeweler opened his mouth to remind them the resized ring couldn’t be returned. Keegan’s details pull you in; you’re standing there when Cathal returns home to the small, disheveled things—a pile of mail, wilted flowers, an unopened champagne bottle. There’s a resigned exhaustion in his slow, casual gestures, like when he slices his birthday cake with a steak knife or lets the cork pop out with a sigh. In the end, he clings to the small comforts of solitude, satisfied with a world in which he doesn’t have to put the toilet seat down. It’s a portrait of quiet selfishness, made vivid through Keegan’s keen eye for ordinary moments laden with unspoken meaning.

The second story shifts to the life of a writer who takes solace in the wild beauty of her Irish surroundings. I could feel the bite of the Atlantic as she swam, the wind tossing the fuchsia bush near her window, and the simple pleasure of baking a chocolate cake topped with berries and cream. 

These details create a cocoon of resilience around her, a sense of self-sufficiency interrupted by the arrival of a man with angry eyes and a cross around his neck. He consumes her carefully made cake without waiting for her to sit, a small but potent act of entitlement that reveals his disregard for her boundaries. Keegan captures the subtle violations of this encounter so precisely that I could feel my own discomfort rising. 

When the writer clears his plate, starts the dishwasher, and quietly leads him to the door, bolting the gate after him, there’s a quiet victory in her resolve. She returns to her writing with renewed determination—a moment of defiance against intrusion and an affirmation of her independence. This story resonated with me deeply, reflecting how easily our peace can be disrupted and the strength it takes to reclaim it.

But it’s the third story “Antarctica” that lingers with a haunting, almost cruel clarity. Here, Keegan explores the quiet despair of a woman who carefully wraps Christmas  gifts — a gold watch, a locket inscribed for her daughte r— and then walks out of her life. 

These gestures of love are poignant and heartbreaking, her kindness almost painful to witness as she continues to give of herself, even as she seems to have little left to hold onto. The encounter with a man who calls himself “the loneliest man on the planet” draws her into a chilling intimacy. He is both charming and disturbingly detached, leading her to his sparse garret apartment where there are no Christmas decorations, no personal photos, only a stray, unnerving cat. Keegan’s details here create a palpable unease—the void of warmth, the control in his every gesture, and the cruelty that simmers beneath his calm exterior.

One scene stands out: he combs her hair in an oddly tender yet sinister gesture, his words sinking in with chilling weight as he tells her she “needs someone to take care of her.” It’s an assertion of power, not compassion, and Keegan captures this moment with unsettling precision. The story closes on a note of bitter inevitability, revealing the dark edges of dependence and how quickly vulnerability can be twisted into something damaging.

Each story in “So Late in the Day” explores characters caught between the need for self-reliance and the longing for connection, revealing how this tension shapes and sometimes traps them. Keegan’s characters live in isolated, carefully guarded worlds, yet each is rendered with such empathy and depth that their smallest gestures resonate universally. 

See Also

Across the three stories, we see women struggling to survive, coexist, and carve out a place for themselves in a world governed by male authority—where misogyny, both overt and subtle, pulses beneath every interaction.In the first and last stories, the female protagonists are seeking to leave behind the confining roles they inhabit: Sabine, in the opening story, finds herself unable to take up space in a marriage where she is barely seen, and, in the final story, the woman walks away from the stifling bonds of marriage, hoping for a life that allows her more freedom. These two narratives frame the central story, where a writer stands her ground, deflecting the intrusive judgments of a man and driving him from her cottage, determined to write her own story and make a name for herself.

Keegan’s portrayal of these women is quiet and often painfully raw, yet filled with moments of strength and defiance. Her stories are vivid, honest, and unforgettable, and reading them feels like stepping into lives that reflect our own hidden fears and unspoken regrets. Long after finishing, I found myself haunted by these women’s struggles to connect with themselves and others, a theme that makes “So Late in the Day”resonate powerfully.


With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home India, and a heart steeped in humanity, writing is a contemplative practice for Monita Soni. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner WLRH 89.3FM.

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